I’ve responded – more than once – to my female critics that, for all of my criticisms leveled at women, I am easily one of the (if not the #1) most compassionate voices towards them in the ‘sphere.

In fact, I’ve even taken flak from men for being so.

Yet I stand my ground.

Understand, I see no point in making enemies where such need not be made.

My goal, in fact, has always been to bring both parties back into harmony (insofar as such is possible).

The reason for my attitude?

The benefits are palpable, being the largest factor.

The other only slightly smaller reason?

Since the Silent Generation in America (people born in the 1930s), men and women have been fed lies.

Sure, they were fewer and further between at the outset.

But, as time moved on, the trough was filled with increasing alacrity and quantity by a glut of deception.

What am I saying here?

That both men and women have been malnourished for decades.

Merely by different means.

Men have been starved.

While women have been given candy, cake, and all sorts of saccharine desserts.

Now, it may seem – at a brief glance – that women have been treated well.

Look again.

A child permitted nothing but ice cream and chocolate is not significantly healthier than one fed scraps and leftovers.

Both will end up deprived, ill and pushed that much closer to an early grave.

Only the symptoms of sickness will differ.

Atrophy versus obesity.

Vitamin deficiency versus diabetes.

Both unsated.

Both constantly craving that which is missing.

Both dying from want.

In short:

The cure isn’t to swap plates.

It’s to change, then balance, what’s on them.

6

]]>https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/22/hungry-for-love-and-its-feeding-time/feed/680proofoinomancy“Can’t close the closet on a shoe-box full of bones”https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/09/cant-close-the-closet-on-a-shoe-box-full-of-bones/
https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/09/cant-close-the-closet-on-a-shoe-box-full-of-bones/#commentsSat, 09 May 2020 10:14:45 +0000http://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/?p=22835

Perhaps it’s my generation (Gen-X).

Perhaps it’s the fact I had a controlling and overbearing mother and a disinterested father.

Perhaps it’s some combination of the two.

Or maybe it’s simply a weakness within myself, but – for the longest time – I never felt anything I had was really mine.

Regardless of the reason, I always felt my things belonged to my family and I just was begrudgingly permitted to use them.

Even if I paid for them with money I earned and they’d nothing to do with the purchase.

Now, certainly losing everything I couldn’t fit in a duffel-bag upon my fleeing Philadelphia westward was my fault, in the end.

But the fact I never felt truly in possession of my possessions contributed greatly to my error.

Why do I share this extremely shameful facet of my past with you?

For the same reason I share many of my successes and failures:

In the hope it’s useful to someone.

Which brings me to the observation I wish to offer.

I’m not a fan of the word “deserve”.

In many contexts, these days, it conveys (or breeds) a sense of entitlement, ingratitude and possibly selfishness.

Instead, I’ve adopted the term “worthy”.

I don’t deserve nice things.

However, I am worthy of them.

Whether it be time spent at the gym, a better pair of shoes, a cleaner home, et al, I don’t deserve it.

I am worthy of it.

Should, of course, I put forth the effort to acquire such.

In brief, it’s a concept I discussed in my book The Holistic Guide to Suicide:

A person is worthy of investment in themselves.

All too often in the modern world, men believe (via subtext or inculcation) they’re inherently unworthy of pretty much everything but the scraps offered them.

This is extremely destructive and – to my mind – a tremendous cause of self-loathing and depression.

In fact, it prevents them from any type of significant improvement – mental, spiritual or physical.

It’s one thing to think oneself undeserving.

It’s another entirely to imagine oneself unworthy of the fruit of one’s own efforts.

What you build with your blood, sweat and tears is yours, my friends.

Let no one tell you otherwise.

Your efforts crafted your creations and your worthiness, both.

Now, it’s possible you think me engaging in needless semantics.

Maybe I am.

Yet, I’d argue:

Framing is everything.

And the person that has no choice but to live forever in your frame—

Is you.

5

]]>https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/09/cant-close-the-closet-on-a-shoe-box-full-of-bones/feed/280proofoinomancy“…still we close our eyes. Not again.”https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/01/still-we-close-our-eyes-not-again/
https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/05/01/still-we-close-our-eyes-not-again/#commentsFri, 01 May 2020 09:23:56 +0000http://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/?p=22804

Although I generally try to keep this blog steered away from current events while focusing on issues I believe to be more lasting, I felt it necessary to share a portion of the vast amount of research I’ve done regarding the COVID-19 subject.
This is not a coherent post, in and of itself.

Rather, a collection of data which I leave to you, dear reader, to utilize in forming your own conclusions.

To begin:
Docked in NYC, literally the hardest hit area in the USA: “…admit patients within a ONE-HOUR traveling radius from the ship” Treated ~120 patients (COVID & nonCOVID; had room for 500) from 30 MAR to 17 APR; 50 already discharged. Set to leave.

Roads are ostensibly empty (compared to traffic 6 months ago), yet they couldn’t fill the beds even permitting up to an hour drive time in what’s classified as the US epicenter.https://t.co/RFXMPHHQrm?amp=1

In just a few weeks:

Record 30 million people lost their jobs
Billionaires grew $308 billion richer

This is after billionaire wealth grew 200 times faster than median American wealth in the prior three decades

Intended or not, this is the solidification of corporatocracy (as I stated earlier).

Not long ago, a young man in one of my gaming groups called asking for some guidance (unrelated to RPGs).

He’s been dating a young woman recently and, as is to be expected, has developed feelings for her.

However, this has brought him an equal amount of stress as it has joy.

He now finds himself feeling undeserving of the good time he’s been having.

Additionally, he’s frequently struck with the dread of her sudden, inexplicable departure.

She’s given no indication of such happening, he readily admits.

Yet, he still awaits the other shoe to drop.

My response was two-fold and, in the interest of potentially helping others, I’ll share it below:

1} Don’t feel unworthy. Unless she’s with you due to deception or intimidation on your part, then her choices are hers; let her make them. Nothing more need be said.

2} As far as awaiting a heartbreaking ending – think of this as being given a green wristband – with no other markings whatsoever- which permits you to be in an amusement park you really like. It grants you the ability to ride the rides, appreciate the sights and generally just enjoy yourself. The sole downside is that you’ve no idea when the staff will ask you to leave; only they know what duration of visit green bands allow. Understand, also, that green wristband applies to pretty much every relationship – from co-workers to spouses. Things can come to an end at any moment or over any length of time. Whether it’s disagreement or death or a million things in between, life is far less within our control than most care to admit.

Thus, try to be grateful for what you get and appreciate it while you’re there.

Simply what I’m doing during this situation in which so many of us find ourselves.

I live on a little more than two acres in a rural part of the USA, so keep that in mind:

1} Shooting – a lot of it, in fact. I set up a range on my property using some old wood, the remnants of a rusty trampoline the previous owners left behind, targets printed by friends at work for free and the empty cans of soda my house-mates and I discard. Admittedly, I’m using a pellet rifle but it’s good practice to keep my skills sharp and hone them further.

2} Starting campfires – quite a few of them. Again, I’ve got land and plenty of trees so, instead of watching Netflix or television or endlessly surfing the ‘net, I sit outside. While there, I practice my fire-building skills, watch the fire crackle and gaze at the stars above.

3} DDP Yoga – it’s an exercise regimen by a former professional wrestler. It’s for folks of any condition so I’m still at the basic level but it’s a good routine to stay active now that I’ve lost access to my gym.

4} The Charles Atlas Bodybuilding Program – I just started this and have no idea how well it works or not but it requires zero equipment and cost me nothing (a friend had the program PDF in his computer archives) so I figure it’s worth a shot.

5} Intermittent Fasting – I do the 16/8, meaning seven days a week I don’t eat for 16 hours and then eat only during the remaining 8 hour window. Doesn’t seem to be working as well as I’d like but I’ll give it a little more time then reassess. Regardless, it keeps me from going through supplies as quickly as I otherwise would.

6} Reading old books on my used Nook – not much more to say than that. I’m reading less than I should (shooting is too much fun) but I’m doing it, regardless.

7} Investigating the Pandemic – recently stopped this. Too few were listening to the facts and it took A LOT of time, so I saw no point. I said all that need be said in a previous post.

8} Calling/emailing friends – No man is an island and I’m certainly no exception. I may be an introvert, but I do love people. Scout’s honor.

9} Cooking – I’m a mediocre cook at best but I’ll be damned if I eat take-out with any regularity. It’s unhealthy, expensive and I prefer to dine out if not eating at home so paying for take-out just seems senseless to me.

10} Writing – Possibly not as much as I should but since I drink and smoke as I do (so I don’t delete everything in a fit of self-loathing and harsh, internal criticism), I’m keeping it to twice a week.

Hope all of my dear readers are well,

Charles Spadille

A

]]>https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/04/07/got-to-keep-100-ill-say-it-if-i-done-it-dont-give-a-fuck-bout-how-you-feel/feed/880proofoinomancy“So many fellas run they mouth, and so few of them know…”https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/03/31/so-many-fellas-run-they-mouth-and-so-few-of-them-know/
https://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/2020/03/31/so-many-fellas-run-they-mouth-and-so-few-of-them-know/#commentsTue, 31 Mar 2020 11:21:42 +0000http://80proofoinomancy.wordpress.com/?p=2259K

As I’ve stated before, one of the best pieces of advice a man can receive is:

And I’ve addressed the fact that I disagree with most of its detractors.

Along with exactly why that is.

Yet, I’ve neglected to mention the benefits of such.

The benefits are threefold:

1} Your odds are much better finding a gal to complement you if you let her know exactly what she should match. If you keep giving someone the wrong combination, you’re a fool to be surprised when they can’t open the safe.

2} As first revealed to me by the inestimable Peter Steele – “It’s better to be hated for who you are than loved for who you’re not.” The more honest a man is about his desires, his goals and his needs, the more likely any woman he finds will be able to meet, support and fulfill them. Don’t believe me? Next time your car breaks down, ask someone to repair your refrigerator. Then call me and let me know how that car of yours is running. The absurd situation I mention is exactly the same as playing relationship Three-card Monte. She can’t find – and fulfill – your needs if you keep her eyes focused in the wrong place.

3} Honesty is the armor of relationships – romantic and otherwise. Sure, it’ll repel some (if you’re me, many, in fact). But that’s a feature, not a bug. Some will leave. Distressing, in the short-run, but nature abhors a vacuum. Someone will come along and fill it. It may take time but, then, anything worth having does.

Now, understand – like pretty much everything I say – this takes work; it’s a hard road to hoe and will come with no small amount of heartache.

Have you ever been stopped at red traffic light, then have it turn green only to notice the person stopped next to you didn’t go?

Sure you have.

And what did you do?

If you’re like literally everyone else, you didn’t go either.

You assumed that person has knowledge you do not.

Oddly enough, the first human assumption is neither “Maybe I know something they don’t” nor is it “Perhaps they’ve a motivation for their decision that I do not or doesn’t apply to me”.

Governments and societies are no different.

They are simply many people making the same mistakes individuals do – only on a much larger scale.

And, frankly, now that women run most of the world, it’s not really surprising that panic erupts over so small an issue. Small, I say. I’ll discuss why I believe that is below.

Although, that said, I’ll state now that much of this isn’t panic.

It’s hope.

This is the disease everyone wants.

The Left wants it to defeat “Drumph”.

The Right wants it to destroy open borders.

Big business wants it to destroy small business. It’s basically inverse predatory pricing. You force everyone to take massive losses knowing full well you’re the only one that can endure them. Afterwards, you’ll be even stronger by absorbing all the losers’ markets.

Women want it to destroy the workplace – because they realize they’ve been sold a bad bill of goods; that working outside the home is not empowering or liberating. It’s just shitty.

Men want it to destroy the workplace – because they have always known working outside the home is not empowering or liberating. It’s just shitty.

The few men and women that like their jobs want this to destroy their commute. So this let’s them add free time to their day by staying home to do it.

And preppers want it to destroy everything.

As I said:

It’s the disease everyone wants.

It’s intellectual “bug-chasing”.

In short, this is a scam.

And, like all scams, everyone is guilty.

The seller tells someone what they want to hear.

And the buyer agrees to ignore it’s too good to be true.

This began with:

Italy is a fate we must avoid.

OK.

We needn’t do much to achieve that result.

Why should we consider Italy an outlier?

They’re the 22nd most densely populated country in the world; the fourth most densely populated on the European continent.

Along with that, comes a few other reasons.

It’s the fifth most popular country for tourists to visit in the world.

According to its 2011 census it had a population of 59,433,744.

In 2018, it had 63.2 million tourists hit its shores.

That’s more visitors from across the globe than inhabitants.

That means more people visited in one year than they had living there.

Their entire country is merely 301,340 km2 (116,350 sq mi).

It’s fifth in the world for life expectancy which means it has the largest senior population in Europe at ~22%.

Also, they have a culture that very much relies on close, personal contact.

Frankly, it’s a miracle that such a thing didn’t happen sooner, and kill a much larger segment of the populace.

What about the numbers in the USA?

As of a 2007 study, there are ~535,000 illegal (“undocumented”) persons in New York City of which 23% are Asian.

Equating to ~134,550 potentially illegal (undocumented) persons that never underwent any type of health screen prior to crossing the US border whatsoever.

If we simply eliminate NY and NJ (whose hardest hit areas are effectively NYC suburbs) the US numbers immediately drop by ~52%.

Would this situation be even remotely concerning if this drop occurred?

I’ve been monitoring the situation for a week and that breakdown has yet to change in any way.

Also, in my monitoring, I notice that they’ve stopped giving details as to the conditions of the infected (especially those that supposedly died from this virus).

In brief, up to that point, everyone under the age of 70 (I spent hours reading them) had significant factors that compromised their health.

If I have cancer yet get hit by a bus and fail to recover from my injuries, did the cancer kill me or did the bus?

The question of the matter is what’s called “disease-specific mortality”.

And we’ve no solid data as to that number.

Even if we discount that point, among 80+ year olds, six out of seven that get this virus survive.

80% of all infected persons suffer only minor symptoms.

The best guess at disease specific mortality then under the age of 60 is roughly .46% [not accounting for a lack of pre-existing conditions which will actually lower that number]

The claim is that it’s 3% across the board but we’ve nowhere near enough accurate data to assert that.

It’s a shot in the dark from numerous sources of (dubious) reliability.

Regardless, all this is to say:

We’re enduring the results of a conspiracy.

I assert it’s an unconscious one.

Also, a terrible, world-changing virus could very easily exist and do tremendous damage thus warranting the measures we’re suffering – and more!

But this isn’t it.

As an aside:

4,636 people died of the flu (not counting pneumonia) in the USA alone during first 10 weeks of 2020, more than 100 of whom were children/infants [COVID-19, as of this writing, has killed exactly 0 persons aged 0-9 in the USA].

Dr Joel Kettner, professor of Community Health Sciences and Surgery at Manitoba University, former Chief Public Health Officer for Manitoba province and Medical Director of the International Centre for Infectious Disease

If you’re one of many folks that liked or commented on my open letter posted months ago:

Thank you.

Truly and deeply.

You’re the men that keep me writing.

Since I’m technically behind this year and – given circumstances in the world, at the moment – I thought I’d give you all something to read to express my humble gratitude for your loyalty.

The back-story:

Years ago, I met a female private-eye on Twitter.

We’ve had a cordial internet acquaintanceship for years, so when she asked me to help her return to writing (a hobby she used to enjoy a while back) I was happy to help.

Not only because she’s been friendly (and indulgent given my sexist work), but because I enjoyed receiving the opportunity to stretch my creative muscles.

So I posited a story in which we met (we’ve never actually met in person, to this very day) and began a professional relationship.

She showed me hers; I showed her mine.

I can’t share hers, simply because it’s not mine to share.

But I offer mine in hopes you’ll have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

My best to you all,

A

Lavender & Brimstone

I tell her, “You know, a woman in a man’s profession winds up there because she feels she has something to prove.”

I say it like I was reciting a weather report that called for rain in Seattle. Both are time-proven, well-worn facts to me.

She’s shooting whiskey so cheap I can smell it from across the table and she’s chasing it with a beer your uncle that’s quit drinking four times now would likely pass up. What is it with women and self-abuse? Regardless, I’m kinda shocked at her reply to my incendiary statement. She’s neither laughing nor pouting – not that I expected a laugh, mind you. Instead, she just stares at me over the rim of her glasses for a heartbeat or two. Her furrowed brow and flashing eyes show me she’s a bit peeved, though. Good. Now I’m on her radar.

“You’re probably right about that”, she replies.

Her words reveal her anger even less than her eyes do. She’s used to dealing with people. Jerks like me, definitely. This confirms my instincts; I chose the right one but I push just an inch more to see if she takes the bait.

I toss “I know I am” out there, keeping it perfectly neutral; in tune with the opener that started all of this.

Actually, I push an inch more because she doesn’t make any sense. No, she’s not speaking in tongues or jabbering in some psychotic fugue state. I mean she doesn’t belong here. And I don’t mean “here” as in this bar, necessarily.
Yeah, the bar is awful. Back when I made serious coin I ate at restaurants with more appealing dumpsters than this joint; what with its cracked, wooden paneling and booths upholstered with pleather slightly less clean than a bus floor. Worse still, the place was old. Not “charmingly antiquated” or “classic”; hobo living on a steam vent old. The basement this bar infests must predate the city that’s forced to admit it surrounds both. I’m sure its wiring was done by H.R. Giger; exposed sockets, fixtures and wires gave it all a ghastly, retro-techno-horror vibe. I suspect someone’s been bribing or blowing the inspections personnel. The funniest part of it all is that an owner somewhere in its sordid history seemed to try to spruce the place up; figurines, framed pictures and posters line the walls. Sadly, they only made the place even more depressing, like looking at a high school yearbook and remembering how svelte you were then or how much more hair you had. However, as I said, I didn’t mean the bar. I meant she didn’t make sense because she was a pretty girl in an ugly world.
Her skin was clear and light; looking as soft as my favorite pillow and as smooth as saxophone solo, not that I’d touched it. She didn’t come to places like this without knowing how to handle grabby hands, I’m dead sure. Her eyes were a blend of light and shade; windows to a soul that couldn’t decide if it belonged north or south of this dismal purgatory in which we found ourselves. Her lips seemed to be the type that, if they smiled, would be like the sun breaking through the clouds above a Saint’s head in a religious painting. Maybe that’s just the Roman Catholic kid in me. Most of all it was the way she carried herself; as if she’s trying to forget she’s a woman yet remains steadfastly determined to fail in the attempt. Senseless.

“So are you here to blow my mind with your insights or was there something else you wanted to discuss?” she asks with a bit feistiness. But just a bit.

“We don’t have to talk for me to blow your mind”, I retort.

I keep it deadpan; let her take it the wrong way. It’ll make the reaction that’s due in a minute that much sweeter. I smirk at the thought.

“Yeah, okay. I think you mentioned you need help finding someone. Still looking?”

The beleaguered tone in that “yeah, okay” tells me she took it exactly the wrong way. Perfect.
I reach under the table, grab the paper shopping bag I brought with me then put it on the table. I make sure to pick my whiskey up, first, of course and sip it; nodding towards the bag. I make sure to push it damn near under her chin, fully across the table. I don’t want her thinking I’m going to paw at her.
For the first time since we met, she seems genuinely intrigued. I can read folks just as well as she can. Plus, I knew this would draw the curious cat out of this particular investigative kitten.

“Open it”, I tell her. More like a spouse giving a gift than an officer barking orders. “You know you want to. Or are you afraid curiosity will kill the cat?”

“I hate cats”, she firmly states. “I like birds.”

I told you this chick made no sense.

Expecting some lascivious take on her revelation – I imagine – she immediately adds “Parrots, specifically.”

“Just open the bag.”, I order with a hint of exasperation.

She does. Her eyes widen damn near the size of the lenses in her glasses. I’m unsure if the cause is the $15,000 in cash or the pistol. Maybe it’s both. Regardless, the reaction is everything I’d hoped it would be.

“I told you we don’t have to talk for me to blow your mind. Now, about my missing friend…”